


Not the Fall, But the Landing

by misura



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, M/M, Mad Science, Pre-Slash, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 21:37:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"It came to me in a dream. Or no, not a dream, dreams are when you're asleep," Holmes said, with all the fervor of a man who's dined on wine and cough medicine the night before and has not had a wink of sleep, since. "A waking dream. A vision."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not the Fall, But the Landing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whiteraven1606](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiteraven1606/gifts).



> prompt: _Holmes/Watson, Sherlock has wings_
> 
> slightly tweaked

"It came to me in a dream. Or no, not a dream, dreams are when you're asleep," Holmes said, with all the fervor of a man who's dined on wine and cough medicine the night before and has not had a wink of sleep, since. "A waking dream. A vision."

"Right." Watson picked up one of the now-empty bottles. Possibly, he mused, he ought to simply stop providing Holmes with medicine altogether. "A vision."

On the other hand, cutting Holmes off from his regular supply would likely as not only drive him to seek out other, less reputable sources. Emptying a bottle of Watson's customary recommended cure for ear- and toothaches appeared not to have killed him, at least.

"Do your ears hurt, by any chance?"

"My ears are fine." Holmes sank down in his favorite chair, closing his eyes for what Watson would bet the first time in well over a day. "My teeth, also."

"Headache?" Watson rose and headed for the window.

"Not yet. Now, if you would be so kind as to keep the curtains closed, I might - "

Watson opened them with a firm tug. "I'm sure you will. Breakfast?"

"You opened the curtains."

"I was thinking bacon and eggs."

"Just tea for me, thank you. Oh, that's bright."

 

A bird skeleton showed up, followed by books, drawings and copious amounts of barely legible notes.

"Thieving magpies?" It wouldn't be the strangest case they'd ever worked on. Bit of a cliche, really, for all that Watson imagined it would take a good deal of time to train the birds - at a rather insubstantial pay-off, he imagined, given the weight the average bird would be capable of carrying.

Holmes looked up. "Sorry, what?"

"The case."

"What case? Never mind, sounds like you solved it already. Very good, Watson. Do make sure to get paid; rent's due again in another two weeks."

"Tomorrow, actually."

Holmes frowned at him. Watson held up the day's newspaper. "I see. _Tempus fugit_. And so shall we, I've no doubt. Well, not so much 'fugit' as - "

"Holmes," Watson said. "What _are_ you talking about?"

"Flying," Holmes told him. "Time, as the Romans say, is fleeting but we, my dear Watson, will _fly_. Like the birds."

"Birds have wings. We don't."

"Correct," Holmes said, "only on the first count, and may I congratulate you on a statement of the blindingly obvious worthy of Lestrade? You may want to be careful there, Watson; the lure of continuously stating the obvious so as to never be found wrong is a _very_ slippery slope."

Watson decided to tackle the most ridiculous part of that statement first. "Lestrade is frequently wrong. As you ought to know quite well, given how often you point it out to him."

"Lestrade is a brave man. Foolish, but brave. As many good policemen have been before him, and many more will be after him, no doubt. It is, if you wish, a requirement for the job. You see, a _smart_ man would know that to _commit_ crimes is far more lucrative than to _solve_ them. Witness our own circumstances, if you wish - you, a doctor of only slightly above average intelligence, and yet you alone easily earn in a week what we scrape together in two, provided we get a profitable case."

Watson opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it.

"It's a moral choice," Holmes said. "And possibly, he's brave only because to be afraid requires considerable amounts of both intelligence and imagination."

"Wings," Watson said. "We have wings now?"

Holmes held up a drawing. "Can't fly without them."

"White, fluffy wings." At a second glance, the figure depicted looked somewhat familiar. Certain parts of the face, especially. "Is this a joke?"

Holmes turned the drawing to look at it, tossed it aside and held up a different one. "It's a flying machine," he said. "Your assistance in building it would be much appreciated."

"That drawing you showed me before."

"Utterly unimportant," Holmes said. "An idle moment of scribbling. Why, did you like it?"

 

So. Holmes's wings were neither white nor fluffy, which Watson found reassuring, although he found the discovery that they were, in fact, something one could put together in a small-ish apartment somewhat less so.

Also, either Holmes's grasp of human anatomy was rather shaky, which seemed unlikely, or his idea of what Watson looked like naked was decidedly unflattering, which ought not to be something Watson should have any particular feelings about, other than that Holmes always wished for things to be logical and reasoned and correct, to say nothing of properly explained.

"Is it me, or is it rather hot in here today?"

Holmes frowned at him. "Neither, I'd say, given your complexion and the fact that you're not sweating even a little."

Well. There went that idea - not that it had been much of one to start with, but even so.

 

"No."

Three weeks. Three weeks of working on Holmes's cursed machine, and ruining both his best and his second-best shirt, to say nothing of his knees, and _this_ was what it had come down to.

"It'll work," Holmes said, which did little to change Watson's opinion on the whole thing, especially when Holmes added: "Probably."

"Probably," Watson repeated. "Oh, _that_ 's reassuring."

"Definitely," Holmes said. "There. Does that restore your faith? It will _definitely_ work. I'd stake my life on it."

It was a very long way down. "You are." Watson would not, he knew, be able to forgive himself if Holmes were to make that bet and lose. "You are staking your life on this, Holmes."

"Right." Holmes glanced over the edge. The dizzying view didn't seem to bother him. "I'd say 'wish me luck' but if it comes down to luck, then clearly, something's gone wrong already."

"Don't," Watson said.

Holmes's expression turned mildly surprised. "Watson, we talked about this. It's the ideal height. I need the distance for the mechanism to properly engage."

" _You_ talked about this. Extensively." Watson wasn't sure if it had been nerves or anticipation. It might have been a bit of both. "Holmes, I'm not going to stand here and watch you throw yourself off a tower."

"Well, you could join me."

It would not make this entire scheme any wiser or safer. "Yes. I suppose I could."

"Hurry, I believe the direction of the wind may be changing."

 

_epilogue_

"They actually _are_ white and fluffy."

"Hitting the cough medicine again, Watson? A doctor? You should be ashamed of yourself."

"I know what I saw, Holmes."

"People under a lot of stress often hallucinate, I've been told."

"And whose fault was it that I was stressed?"

"I admit I may have been a slight miscalculation in the design. Still, live and learn, as they say. Next time - "

"Abso-bloody-lutely not."


End file.
